


Super

by remolupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remolupin/pseuds/remolupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU; There's entirely too much spandex in Remus's life for his liking. Sirius appreciates it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super

**Author's Note:**

> I only realised that Remus and Sirius's superhero names were already taken after I got too lazy to change them, so sorry for that! And I didn't really put as much as I wanted in this, which means that there's likely to be some snippets added later on.

When he was little, Remus had wanted to be a librarian. Well—he had wanted to be a librarian after he wanted to be a vet, firefighter, astronaut, and intergalactic space trooper, but librarian was the most realistic pick.

He had expected a life of normalcy, of leather-bound books and quiet evenings and cups of tea in the mornings. Maybe a wife—that expectation, of course, changed to husband only a few short months after his perfect life had been imagined—to share it all with. His perfect life had been realised by about half, which, in all honestly, was quite enough for him. He got his books and an absolute heaven (albeit a dusty heaven) in the little second-hand book shop he had bought from a friendly old man back before this whole mess began. He was even able to get a cup of tea in most mornings, and all in all, it was a very idealistic half-life, even without the husband or quiet evenings.

The other half, however, didn’t carry so many pleasantries.

He had expected normalcy, not—this. Whatever _this_ was. And whatever this was involved quite too much spandex for his liking.

Hell, it involved too much everything for his liking, really. The spandex just happened to be the worst part. But beyond that, his mask was just absurd, his everything ended up ridiculously bruised, and he was rather sure that the darling little lady who lived across the hall thought he was on drugs; not to mention that bloody vigilante threesome that kept messing up his damned job. (Not that _he_ wasn’t vigilante, of course, but they kept playing it off like it was some big game, not a duty to England and London and their own goddamn Queen. It was very harrumph-inducing.)

Remus had this under control. This week’s bad guys, some leather-clad, whip-wielding terrors that didn’t exactly come from that club on twelfth street, had been corralled, their leader was disarmed and knocked out, the police were on their way, and those stupid bloody fucking Meringuers were not needed but there they were, waltzing in like they were fashionably late to a party.

“I’ve got this, thanks,” Remus said, gesturing to the large wall of ice the few still-conscious whip-men were trying to get through. “Feel free to leave.”

The goggled one (Prat? Probes? It didn’t matter) grinned over at him, hair an unfortunate nest atop his head. “Oh, no thanks, we’ve only just got here.”

“Really, thanks, it’s fine.” Remus knew there wasn’t much hope in getting them to leave. He just had to wait for the coppers to get there and make sure all was okay and then, _then_ he could escape and have a nice cup of earl gray in front of the fire. And just maybe he could get it all done before the flaming Boy Wonder dropped from the sky.

He was very sure that the rumble from the sky served only to spite him.

Flaming Boy Wonder, known to his adoring civilian fans as Rage and to Remus as That Asshole, descended on that stupid flying motorbike he was so fond of, hands already lit up and prepared for a fight. 

“Oh, wonderful!” Remus smiled, as soon as he was within earshot. “I was just telling your goons that I can handle the situation, thank you so much for your concern—“ He took a moment to revel in the goons’ indignation.

Rage parked his bike on the sidewalk. Remus hoped he’d get a ticket.

“Oh, shut up, Iceman.” He grinned fondly, running a still-flaming hand through his hair. He glanced over at Prada and—the other one. Remus wasn’t sure who he was, honestly, the media’s attention was usually on their two golden boys. “I can take it from here, lads. I’ll have my usual for lunch.”

Prince gave him some sort of warning look before nodding. “Let’s go, Pete.”

Pete (Remus thought Iceman was a shitty super-name but _Pete_ had to take the shitty cake) rolled his eyes and gave Rage a shake of his head, which Rage steadily ignored, before following Pringle away from the scene.

“So listen, Icee—“

“Oh god.”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to stop by some time? Have a drink or two or five, maybe some pie or something?”

Remus stared, his ice-wall drooping a bit in shock before he quickly built it up, one of its captives groaning in disappointment at the recovery. “Did you just ask me out?”

He seemed to consider this, his mouth forming the cockiest smirk Remus had ever seen. As ludicrous as it seemed, Remus was pretty sure that (beneath the perpetually-there visor) Rage’s eyebrows had their own individual expressions. “I do believe I did, Snowman. Spandex optional.”

It was a tempting offer. Until Remus remembered that this was his sworn not-an-emeny-but-sure-as-hell-not-a-friend and a bloody nuisance besides. No matter how nice that bloody nuisance’s arse looked beneath his customary leather trousers. “I usually go for, you know, someone who wouldn’t set me on fire.”

“And I’d usually go for someone who wouldn’t freeze me given the chance. This isn’t the most usual of circumstances.” Rage shot back with a smirk, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Wait—“ Remus gaped, looking between the pack and his shielded face. “You can’t—you’ve got to be kidding!”

“What?”

“You—smoke?” if he was being honest with himself, Remus wasn’t sure why it shocked him so much. It wasn’t even scandalous or heinous or anything like that, but god if it wasn’t the most typical thing he could have expected.

“Yes?” Rage grinned again, lighting up with a fingertip and taking a drag. Remus tried quite hard to not find it attractive. “Problem?”

“No!” It came out as more of a shout than anything, and Remus was glad that his blush was hidden by the mask. 

”Great,” Rage said with an infuriating smile. “Well. Think about that offer, yeah?”

“I doubt I’ll change my mind.” Remus said quickly, still making attempts to not stare at his rather obscene mouth.

“Just think about it.” He grinned, taking one last hollow-cheeked drag before dropping it, putting it out with the toe of his boot. “And Iceboy?”

Remus couldn’t bring himself to glare, especially when Rage nodded to the currently escaping whip-wielders. By the time Remus had put the ice-wall back up (this time catching them half in it), Rage had disappeared, and sirens could be heard coming down the street.

“Well.” Remus muttered to himself. “Bugger.”

\---

Remus hadn’t had the best childhood, but he certainly hadn’t had the worst, either. He had loving parents (although loving did not mean attentive) and was bright (second in class, he was proud to say), and he even had a few friends who understood that sports were an unnecessary evil, that the bakery a few streets down was heaven-sent, and that Jane Austen was everything but.

He had never been the healthiest of children, however. He was frail and rather sickly and no matter what medicines he was put on, Remus’s heart was always just too wrong. There were half a dozen or so scares before he moved out, where his heart beat to slowly or gave in and stopped, if only for a small moment. He survived it all, of course, but it felt inevitable that one day it wouldn’t restart. It wasn’t until after he moved away from his parents—promising to keep one hand on the phone and the other on his pulse—that it started to speed up.

Remus was certain he would die. He couldn’t breathe, he was much too hot, and blacked out for god knows how long. When he woke, he couldn’t think anything but _oh_. Ice was surrounding him but not encasing him, so clear and cool and calming that his heart was right back to normal. Not even the normal that had graced his sickly childhood years, no, but the normal that he was sure every fit and healthy member of the football team possessed.

_Oh_ , he thought as the ice slowly melted away, although it left no trace of water behind it. _I may be mistaken but I think—I think this changes things._

It took a long while to figure out how it worked, and even longer to learn how to control it. It had been worth it in the end, though, the ice keeping his heart rate from going erratic, and Remus spent hours bringing ice to the surface, watching it mold around his skin, feeling a sense of comfort and power and stability in every crystal.

It wasn’t until he stopped an alley-side burglary by freezing the thief’s hands to the wall that he realised his _power_ could be used for something a bit bigger than himself.

\---

Sirius, although he wouldn’t readily admit it, had had the worst childhood, despite the sprawling manor and prestigious schools he was raised in. He had no friends to speak of for the first half of it, his contact limited to his baby brother Regulus and their caretaker, Mister Kreacher, which he tried to avoid at all costs. But he would have loved to stay tucked away with his crying  
brother and snarling nanny if it meant he could avoid his parents.

If he had to describe his childhood in one word, it would be _dark_. He could go with _angry_ , like his Father when Sirius spoke out of turn or his Mummy when he broke something she didn’t even like. He could go with _alone_ , for his friendless days of school or his time spent in his room or the long hours of him being punished. He could go with _scared_ , for his parents’ anger or progress report days or the dark that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

But all he wanted throughout his entire childhood—more than his mother to hold him or his father to smile or his brother to stop crying, _please, stop crying_ —was something to chase it away; chase away all the monsters that hid in the shadows and the screaming that came before the dark began, to make the dark itself go away and never come back and to not hurt him anymore. He wanted a protector, a friend, a _light_ that could save him.

He was fifteen when his brother died. Reggie had been twelve. 

He had stopped crying sometimes, enough for a few games of chess and a few nervous hugs that they had both craved. Regulus, for all his time spent crying, had told Sirius stories, of magic  
and happiness and all the mythical things he could imagine. He would think about them sometimes, wrapped tightly around himself because the smaller he was, the more likely the monsters would look over him. They were like little lights in his mind, they chased away the shadows for a while, enough for the fear in Sirius’s mind to ebb away just enough that it was usually only his hands that would shake. The bulbs had to be refreshed every once in a while, though, with a new story to keep him going.

Without new stories to chase it all away—without Regulus to help him be strong—Sirius knew he would go mad.

His mother threw him into the basement the day Regulus died because somehow, _somehow_ it had been his fault. He screamed at first, banging on the door, sobbing around every shriek. No one came by the door to whisper a story or a small reassurance. There was no one, anymore. Regulus was gone. There was no light.

Sirius stopped screaming only when he had no more screams left, no more tears that could run down his cheeks. He felt his way to the corner he felt safest in, trying to ignore the imagined claws grabbing his wrist or the lull of the monsters luring him in. He drew into himself as much as he could, closing his eyes and trying his hardest to remember the stories that tried to push through his mind. But none of them could get past the dark wall, none of them could help.

Everything surged white all around him, then. It was a hot kind of light, bright and intimidating and warm and—when Sirius opened his eyes, the darkness was gone. Fire curled around him, scorching hot but not burning, dancing across his skin and crackling quietly. He relaxed a bit more, gazing around himself in wonder. 

The dark stayed away until his mother slammed the door open the next day, and the fire seemed to shoot into him, like it had never been there in the first place. He didn’t realise that his clothes had been burnt off until his mother shrieked something about _the nerve_ and _indecency!_ at him, but he paid her no mind.

He hurried past her, ignoring her indignant squawks aimed in the general direction of his buttocks, and went into his room to get dressed. He locked himself in Regulus’s empty room that night, showing him the fire that didn’t burn—unless, he discovered, he wanted it to. 

The Black crest tapestry that hung above Regulus’s bed was in ashes the next morning. Some of Regulus’s things were missing as well, and, they discovered a few hours later, so was Sirius.  
It was all a bit of a haze, running away. He was determined to never be in the dark again, and with fire by his side—or inside of him, he wasn’t sure, not yet—he wouldn’t have to be.

\---

For all his pedigree upbringing and shitton of hair products, Sirius became a pro at living rough. He evaded the search parties for the few weeks he was actually being searched for, and the police when he slept on the benches there were apparently laws against sleeping on, bringing his fire to the surface whenever he needed warmth. Or whenever he could, really. It took a year of breaking into abandoned buildings and nicking sandwiches from the back of a deli before James wandered upon him.

Sirius had been working on loosening bolts from a vent when James had wandered up to him, leaning on the wall beside him and crunching away on an apple. “What’re you doing, then?” he had asked after seeing that Sirius was probably not going to initiate conversation any time soon.

Sirius glanced up at him with all the teenage annoyance he could, which, as it turned out, was a lot. “Breaking in. You have a problem with that?”

James shrugged. “Not really, no. But I don’t see why. My place is much nicer.”

“What?” Sirius sat back on his heels, looking up at him like he was touched in the brain. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course not, you are.” Sirius’s hardened stare was enough to make James step back, hands raised in a gesture no harm, before he faded into nothing. Sirius sprang to his feet with wide eyes, screwdriver falling from his hand. James took a bite of apple as he reappeared. “I’ve been following you.”

“That—“ Sirius blinked, bewildered. “That is really fucking creepy, mate.”

“So you’ll come?” James smiled, all dimpled and messy-haired and bespectacled and completely, _completely_ dorky. And Sirius, with his fire and hard-won callouses and hair that had grown much too long, couldn’t do anything but nod.

As far as friendships go, it wasn’t too bad of a start.

\---

Remus’s book shop, tucked snugly between a small bakery and a smaller jewelry store on a street that still had cobblestone walkways, was not the busiest of places, which is just how Remus liked it. He made enough to live off of and not much else, but it suited him fine. There were always new books being brought in (well, new old books, which were even better) and his tea stock was always nice and full, and his flat was only a short walk away. And, as an added bonus, the drycleaner down the road never asked questions when he brought his suit in.

Because of the book shop and a few rather gradual realizations, Remus’s favourite day became Thursday. Thursday, while it had its benefits (with a good television show on at seven which generally called for Thai night), was one of the more dismal days. Or it had been, at least. It had been too far from the weekend to spur any sort of enthusiasm, and too far from the beginning of the week to urge any productivity. But, Remus had come to discover, Thursdays were a thing of beauty.

This had all to do with the donations on Thursdays rather than a regular customer, of course, Remus was not that type of man. Nonetheless, he couldn’t push down the rush of happiness or the excited smile when he heard the ding of the door.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sirius said, holding up a bag. “I brought us lunch.”

“Don’t mind at all.” Remus grinned at him from where he was registering books, putting down his pen.

Sirius pulled up his usual stool on the other side of the desk, getting everything out. “Any good ones today?”

“First edition _Babylon Revisited_ , beat up around the edges but still.”

Sirius grinned. “Fitzy always goes for a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Tempted to keep it for myself, really.”

“Naughty.” Sirius winked. “I like that.”

This had been going on for _months_ now, their casual conversation and shared meals. It started when Sirius had run in from a sudden rain, looking appropriately apologetic at his dripping and pretending to look around for a good ten minutes before Remus took pity on him.

“Care for a cup of tea?” he had asked, his amusement outweighing his annoyance as Sirius wrinkled his nose at the usually popular titles. “Nasty weather out, don’t want to catch a cold.”

“I—“ Sirius had an _I’m fine_ on the tip of his tongue, but a look at the shopkeeper made him stumble over his own words. “I’d—like that. Thanks.”

Remus smiled, all pink-lipped and golden-haired, and Sirius felt that it was entirely unfair of him on very many levels.

“I’m—Sirius, by the way.” 

He smiled again as he fixed the tea. “Remus.”

“Remus,” Sirius repeated, giving a doggish grin. Fuck. James had always said he dived headfirst into things. It seemed that love was no different.

\---

Remus had grown rather proficient at ice skating—or ice surfing, really. It wasn’t the most conventional way of getting around but it was sure as hell a lot better than goddamn Rage’s flying motorbike. _How_ he had gotten it to fly, Remus was sure he didn’t want to know. When he landed on the roof of some business he had been called to, however, the stupid bike was already leaning carefully against an air duct. Rage was whipping out fire-hands at whatever attacker was stupid enough to come near him (which was rather a lot), Princess was (he assumed) invisible and taking the rest out when they didn’t expect it, and Pete (which remained the lamest super-name Remus had ever encountered) was pointing them out before Remus could even see them.

“Ah, great!” Rage smiled widely when he spotted him. “Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, thanks for dropping the invite.” Remus took the opportunity to take out an alien-monster-thing with an icicle before crossing his arms and glaring as much as he could. “Although I wasn’t aware it was you who sent it. In fact, I thought it was the person who actually sends me out to these things so I was wondering how—“

Rage shrugged, fire lashing around him. “I’m good at hacking.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Thanks!”

Remus was almost sure he knew it wasn’t a compliment. “Well, gentlemen, it looks like you have this situation under control so I’ll just be on my way.”

“Oh, come on!” Rage objected, taking out another few blubbery creatures effortlessly before facing him. “Fight a few rounds with us, come back to mine for lunch—“

“No.” Remus didn’t have to think about it that hard. Lunches were reserved for certain loyal customers on certain days of the week. “I’m not that type of man, I’m afraid.”

“What, gay?” Rage snorted and Remus felt a rebuke about to explode. “You’re the only one in spandex here, my friend. Not that I’m objecting. Hell, with that arse I don’t think even Prongsie here object—“

“Prongs? I could have sworn it was Pronto—“

“What kind of lame-arse name is that?” He objected from somewhere to Remus’s left, although he didn’t bother to look for him.

“It’s better than Prick, which is what I thought it was last week.”

“Oi!” Prongs objected, sounding rather offended. Remus was tempted to apologise. “I like him, Padfoot. And from a purely heterosexual, aesthetically appreciative view point, his arse _is_ rather spectacular—“

“O-kay,” Remus shifted his weight, a blush rising again. “I’m starting to feel rather violated and—and I thought your name was Rage!”

“I am a man of many names!” Rage proclaimed, knocking out another slew of attackers with gusto. “And Pete there said I’m part hellhound, Padfoot sort of stuck.”

“You are all insane and Pete, you seem half-decent, but that is literally the _worst_ name of any super I’ve ever come across.”

“Thanks,” Pete said, pointing out an oncoming blubberer behind him. Remus iced it without looking. “My mum gave it to me.”

Prongs cackled from above him. “We wanted to call him X-Man but he said that it’s copyrighted.”

“And I,” Pete sighed with the practiced air of a long-suffering companion, “still cannot believe that I’m the only one of you lot that’s ever read a comic—“

“Ugh, comics,” said Rage.

“Ugh, reading,” said Prongs.

It took a lot more effort than it should have not to laugh when fire thunked against Prongs’s invisible head. As it were, he couldn’t help the appreciative grin that slipped over his face.

“Now look at that,” Rage said, finishing off the last of the blubberers. “Iceman isn’t as icy as we thought.”

“I’m still not going home with you.” Remus smiled.

“Not even as friends?”

Remus laughed but didn’t deny the term, ice-surfing back to his flat. He almost wanted to tell Sirius about it. It would certainly make their Thursdays more eventful. He shook his head a bit. It was a bit of a wonder that Sirius even went for guys like him, even as friends. He didn’t want to ruin that with the whole freezing things with his mind deal.

It was bad enough that they couldn’t touch; frostbite would probably put a damper on their relationship, though, so it was probably for the best.

\---

Sirius came in a bit later than usual that Thursday, but the éclairs clutched to his chest more than made up for it. “Christ, I thought I was going to die there for a second—those businessmen don’t fuck around when it comes to their pastries.”

“Oh?” Remus asked from his perch on the ladder, stretching to finish shelving the top shelf. 

“Er, yeah—“ Sirius said, and when Remus looked down at him, his cheeks were flushed and a crease had formed between his eyebrows. 

With a suspicious look, Remus grabbed another pile of books. “I’ll only be a moment, sorry.”

“No problem.” Sirius’s voice was tighter than usual and, although only he knew it, so were his pants. Remus definitely had a first class arse on him, Sirius was not afraid to note; but it was strangely familiar. He took a long, measured glance, purely for scientific purposes. If the flush on the back of Remus’s neck was anything to go by, he could feel his gaze.

“Sirius?” he said, his cheeks a rosy red that Sirius definitely appreciated. “Could you hand me that last pile?”

Sirius nodded and fetched it for him, handing it up. Remus’s old trousers weren’t as tight as they could have been, certainly not as tight as the spandex that came to mind. But the globliness and approximated bounciness was pretty similar, if not the same.

In the back of Sirius’s mind, a metaphorical light bulb flickered.

“All right—“ Remus smiled, hopping down from the ladder. “What’ve you got for us today? I’m starved.”

Sirius smiled and shook his head of all those thoughts. “I thought we’d start carving our way through all the Turkish delis in town.”

“Sounds great to me.” Remus grinned, taking his seat.

\---

Remus had a brief light bulb crisis of his own later that evening, when he thought he saw Sirius light his cigarette without a lighter. Like his fingertip had sparked instead. He brushed the thought away with a shake of his head, putting it down to a wild imagination or possibly some sketchy meat in his sandwich.

He couldn’t help the nagging in the smallest corner of his brain, though, but once Sirius returned to the desk, he managed to push it back. It didn’t matter, anyways. He was seeing things. That was all.

\---

After a while, Sirius had stopped mulling over Remus’s (delicious) arse and gotten rather invested in their debate over that week’s episode of _Teen Wolf_ , which they had found to be a mutual very-very-guilty pleasure. It wasn’t until nearly two hours after Sirius had been due to be back at James’s that they noticed their conversation had gone a bit overtime, both of them springing into action as if it would help their case. 

“We—have to continue this sometime,” Sirius grinned, quickly cleaning up his mess. “I’m not sure I can wait till next week.”

“You have my number, yeah?” Remus asked, throwing things in the bin as quickly as he could. “Don’t be afraid to give me a call.”

“I won’t—“ Sirius began to toss things in as well, avoiding the various scraps of paper that had taken up permanent occupancy of Remus’s desk. “I mean I will call but—“

Their hands brushed, right where their sleeves stopped covering. Both froze for a split second before jumping apart like they’d been burned. Which, both realised with a start, they hadn’t.

Sirius stared at Remus’s wrist, which was still as pale and thin and unharmed as it usually was. Remus stared at Sirius’s, his skin still unmarred and as smooth as always.

The metaphorical light bulbs started flicking on and off in their minds, eyebrows furrowed and neither really able to meet the other’s eyes.

“I’ll—call.” Sirius said at last, grabbing his helmet.

Remus nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah, ah. Please do.”

He watched through the window as Sirius sped away on an oddly familiar bike, although this one stuck to the streets rather than the sky.

Remus rubbed his wrist absentmindedly, wondering what went wrong—or, more likely, what went right.

\---

Sirius had called on Monday, just enough time for Remus to start feeling more than a little harried about their encounter the previous week but without the whole _I’m never going to see him again_ freak out. 

“We’ve practically been dating for a good month, at least—“ Sirius had reasoned after a long rant, and Remus could imagine his nervous gestures. “I mean, I—thought—we sort of have not that we really have but—if you wanted to maybe we could—“

“Sirius—“ he interrupted, trying to bite back the ridiculous smile that was threatening to emerge. “Yes, I want.”

Sirius let out a half-embarrassed, half-relieved laugh. “Good. Good, ah, Thursday? At eight?”

“Sounds great.”

“Great. I’ll—see you then.”

If both had slumped against the wall with phones clutched to their chests and stupid smiles on their faces, no one was there to see it.

A Thursday date had sounded absolutely brilliant at the time, and had all the way up until the day of, but after a grueling week of Remus battling evil balls of cashmere and helping the Mariachiers with an onslaught of fluffy puffs that seemed content to bounce around until they started trying to eat every cat they ran across, however, Remus was exhausted. It wasn’t necessarily hard work, but it was tiring, and not really in the norm.

Generally, the super villains of London were rather considerate. Crime tended to at least slow until the weekend, giving the heroes time to rest and relax and start in on the new season of Doctor Who that they’d been missing. But there were no such consideration this time around, and Remus felt rather peeved at it all.

Thursday afternoon brought some mad scientist’s creation, one that shot slime, of all things, and unless it turned out to be remarkably laundry friendly, he would have a lot of explaining to do to Sirius when their date rolled around. They managed to kick alien ass rather quickly, all things considered, and when Remus got back to his flat, he decided that it probably wasn’t worth trying to wrangle the bloody slime off hi s suit with such a short time till their date. He settled for a quick strip and scrub, and thankfully, the alien was considerate enough to have a nice washable slime, no matter how disgusting it was.

Sirius knocked on his door just as he stepped out and Remus hurried to wrap a towel around his waist, stumbling quickly to answer it.  
“Hey!” Remus said as he opened the door, only a bit breathless. “Sorry, I just got out—“

Sirius, he noted smugly, did not seem very put off by his appearance. There were light scars tracing up Remus’s torso (mementos of his lack of finesse in his early icy crime-stopping years), and his skin was still wet and flushed from the shower, curly hair falling damply over his forehead. His towel wasn’t exactly long, either, a semi-conscious decision that Remus’s long-time-no-lay mind seemed to think fit. But oh well, Remus thought. He knew what he had. He might as well rock it. 

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.“ Sirius was blushing, the dear.

Remus grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Come in, I’ll get dressed—“

Sirius stepped past him with a smile that was only half sheepish; the other half was a bit more delightfully lusty, which Remus happened to prefer. “Take your time.”  
It wasn’t until Remus was halfway to his bedroom, hips swaying just a bit because who was he to deny a free show, that he remembered the slimy suit that was still draped over the arm of the couch. He paused, closing his eyes as he considered his options. It probably wasn’t ideal to knock out his first date in ages, honestly, but was he really sure that Sirius wouldn’t sell him out to the tabloids?

“Hey, Remus?” Sirius’s voice held some sort of strange curiosity or stranger conviction, and Remus had to fight to keep his own voice steady.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Iceman?”

Remus winced and heaved an internal sigh, not really sure what he was preparing for. Sirius had a sleeve of the suit in his hand, not bothered by the ooze that Remus was still sure would be a bitch to get out. He couldn’t even lie his way out of this, the attack had been on the news and everything before the camera lenses were given a slime bath as well.

“Um.” Remus said, articulate as ever.

“So that’s—that’s why you didn’t get all third-degree’d up on me the other day?”

“Um?” He could probably make a great living as a public speaker. Give up this superhero nonsense. It probably paid better.

“And—“ Sirius blinked. “You arse, you’ve been rejecting me for _years_!”

“ _Um_?” Remus asked with considerably more gusto, because really, he would have remembered those magnificent arms and highly doubted he would be rejecting them. And those _hands_ were a different story entirely and that different story was currently catching fire and— “Fuck.”

Sirius grinned, and hell-be-damned if it wasn’t that same doggy grin Remus had grown to hate to love. “You’re an asshole, you know?”

“Yeah, well, you’re a flaming twat.”

There were several responses that one could expect when calling someone a flaming twat. One was a good punch to the jaw or a shove down the stairs, or maybe even a slap fight if both parties were drunk enough. But the response Remus was very sure no one could expect was said flaming twat grabbing your face and kissing the absolute fuck out of you. Remus was also very sure that he hadn’t expected himself to start kissing back.

Sirius’s hands moved deftly down his bare sides, astoundingly warm on Remus’s cool skin, and unafraid of being rough. Sirius’s mouth moved against his own, positively _scorching_ in a way that he was sure none of his weak teenage-years kisses were, teeth nipping at Remus’s lips and tongue working its way around Remus’s mouth.

“Woah—“ Remus said as he pulled away, pupils blown wide and breath coming out in short gasps.

“What?” Sirius grinned his Rage grin again, looking entirely too smug for Remus’s liking. “Was it that good?”

“No, dolt, you’re practically drooling _in my mouth_ and I like Frenching as much as the next guy but—“

That stupid, flaming, gorgeous hunk of a man laughed, scruffing his own hair. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.” Remus led him there, not bothering to hold on to his towel.

\---

They ended up tangled together, cancelling their reservations at the restaurant and ordering pizza instead because clothes seemed like a lot more effort than they were worth. Remus lazily drew icy spirals over Sirius’s abs as he made fire tickle across his scars, both relishing in the cold and heat and human contact.

“I’m still not joining your merry Mermeners.” Remus muttered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Marauders,” Sirius corrected. “But I’ll petition to have it changed.”


End file.
